


Let Your Warm Hands Break Right Through

by dancinbutterfly



Series: Jesse Manes Is a Humans Rights Violation [1]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Captivity, Family Feels, First Love, Government Conspiracy, Holding Hands, Hostage Situations, Hurt Michael, Implied/Referenced Sex, Implied/Referenced Torture, Imprisonment, Jesse Manes A+ Airmanship, Jesse Manes A+ Parenting, Jesse Manes is a Very Bad Man, Kidnapping, Kyle Valenti is a Hero, Kyle Valenti is a good guy, Love Confessions, M/M, Medical Examination, Memories, Michael Guerin is Loved, Michael-centric, Physical Abuse, Psychological Torture, Rescue, Rescue Missions, Reunions, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Sex, Touch-Starved, Trauma, Wrongful Imprisonment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 09:53:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18408224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancinbutterfly/pseuds/dancinbutterfly
Summary: Michael knows when Jesse Manes took him from the back of his truck and put him in this cell. It was the best and worst night of his life, after all. But he doesn't know how long he's been here. Without days or nights, there's no way to gage the passage of time with nothing but Manes' deliveries of food and interrogations to break up the monotony. But he knows it's been a long time. A really long time.





	Let Your Warm Hands Break Right Through

**Author's Note:**

> this started as an anon ask. 3 hrs later i had 5k. motherfucking whoops. i need this off me so no beta we die like men.
> 
> head the tags. 
> 
> thanks to littlecountrymouse for letting me @ them while I wrote and to the anon who punished me with this in the first place.

Michael’s been having a hard time keeping track of time for…well. That’s the problem, isn’t it? He doesn’t know how long he’s been down here. Everything is gun-metal grey and sickly yellow from the fluorescent lights that never turn off. He's probably a mess himself, with his threadbare clothes, hair that hangs in tangles to his shoulder blades and monster of a beard that itches like a bitch and could compete with the most pretentious hipster or crunchy cave-dwelling hermit. 

He can’t keep up with hours or days or months or goddamn years,  _years_  because Jesse Manes always brings enough food to last multiple meals, at least ten, and so far he’s never run out. He can’t gauge by the visits or Manes’ interrogations or the resupply, or because there’s no real rhythm to it. The cell he’s in (and it is a cell, there’s no other word for a windowless room he’s locked inside where his powers somehow don’t work) has a sink and a toilet so Manes hasn’t taken him out of it. The few times he’s come in, rather than question from outside, he’s knocked him out first with some kind of gas and Michael has come to hand cuffed and shackled at the ankles before being battered with questions about the crash, his people, his biology, his ship.

Michael has shared things he suspects Manes already knows, which, he thinks is a lot. He’s pretty sure the guy knows more than he does about where he’s from and what happened in ’47 but he hasn’t broken on Max and Isabel or anything specific about anything but himself yet and it has been, well, he doesn’t know, but a fucking while. 

He’s come close a few times. The first time was early days, when Manes cut off the shell of his left ear with safety scissors, Michael came pretty damn close to spilling everything about the pods and the console and Max and Isabel and why Alex had made Michael love him and fucking everything else Manes wanted to know just to make him stop but he’d managed not to because appeasing someone who hurt him on a whim only ever lasted so long before it began again and he’d learned that young and hard.  But that was before he learned how to lose himself inside the agony and everything was the pain and even Manes was gone because how could he answer when nothing else existed, however long ago that was.  

Photos of Max and Isabel at her wedding, that Michael wasn’t there for, to some guy he’s never met, nearly did the trick. Nearly but not quite. 

Michael’s not so far gone as to actually believe Manes would take either of his siblings, not like he used to. The two of them would be missed. The Evanses are a well respected family, Isabel a married woman, Max a respected law man,  and neither of them are broken, half-crippled teenagers who just fucked his son in his toolshed and was still sick with the effort from staging a fucking car accident like Michael was when Manes took him out of the back of his truck while he slept. 

He’s had enough time to piece together Manes is way off the grid and acting as a rogue agent in a government program that may or may not be on the level. Manes, in return, has had enough time to figure out that Michael isn’t going to give him shit without him working for it. 

Today, Manes shows up in his fatigues, dressed and pressed, and does whatever it was that he does that knocks him out, and when he comes to, he’s naked which is always fun. He tests his powers, as he always does on the off chance that Manes is getting sloppy or lazy or that whatever it is has somehow worn off and finds them as inactive as ever. 

“Come on, Michael. Let’s go. I don’t have all day.”

That started after the session with Isabel’s wedding pictures, Manes calling him Michael. He’d used a potato peeler to scrape the skin off the bottom of his left foot and then, when he was done, “You know I don’t like doing this Michael. If you’d just explain the handprint to me I’ll order us a pizza and we could discuss this like reasonable people.”

Michael had sobbed, his face wet with tears, and licked them away to moisten his mouth so he could better spit in his face. The terrible anger in his eyes always took him back to that night in June but now, after having been friends with nothing but pain and loneliness for so long, having spent so much time with no one but Manes, he could look at this man and see where Alex’s eyebrows and eyes and stubborn jaw and the curve of his lips were born the harsh set of Manes’ expression.  He couldn’t remember what Alex tasted like anymore and that made him fucking furious, which helped. “That would require us both to be reasonable people, and ya know, reasonable people don’t violate the Geneva Convention for fun, Jay.”

“This isn’t for fun.”

“Isn’t it? You’re sure all this isn't happening cuz you showed up not half an hour after Alex had my cock up his-”

“Michael,” Manes cuts him off before he can lie about the configuration of their only night together, again. He’s as cold and calm as always, wiping the potato peeler down in iodine before moving to kneel by his right leg.  “Talk to me about the handprint. How does it happen?”

“How about you make like your son and eat my entire ass?” He didn’t mean that. He and Alex hadn’t had time to get to rimming. They didn't get a chance to do pretty much anything Michael wanted to try. Michael had offered to eat him out, how different could it be to a girl, really, but Alex said no, and spent their time fingering him open on his back until he was giggly and dizzy with new bliss instead then taken him part with his cock, pressed tight together and watching him with those big serious eyes of his. Michael has spent so much time remembering Alex’s hands so careful and soft on his hips and sides and face and neck and in his hair as he moved inside him, kissing him and laughing when they slipped or slid together and moaning into his mouth as they kissed and kissed and kissed until they could barely breathe for the pleasure of it all, the feeling of _together_ and _yes_ and _more_ and _right_ and _want_ and _now_.

Michael never shared the truth with Manes. Instead, he made up fantasies of never-was and didn’t-get-to and reveled in the way it made anger flash in Manes’ eyes still means he landed a hit. Good. He knew he’d pay for it but it was worth it. It was the only leverage he head.

Manes shook his head and sighed as he set Michael’s bare foot on his knee and held it steady, pressing the peeler against his heel. “Remember that you chose this, Michael. You’ve always chosen this.”

He’d screamed and he’d passed out before Manes finished with his right foot and he’d told him the truth, that he didn’t know how they happened, they just did, because torture was for breaking people and it almost always worked to that end but it also never got anyone anything useful. When he woke up both feet were cleaned, treated, and bandaged. The point of torture was pain, not infection. He was no good to Manes if he died. 

He doesn’t know what happened, what changed, because Manes didn’t ease up in torturing him, or questioning him. He showed no indication of letting him go. He just got conversational, as if he was tired of being alone with the secret when Michael himself was right there to chat with. It’s a small thing he appreciates, he can admit that. He doesn’t have a lot else to do but continue the problems he’s been working on since he was 11 and stare at the light fixtures.

When Manes says that he’s in a rush, Michael doesn’t move from his sprawl on the sleeping bag that’s been his bed for however many years this cell has been his home. “That’s funny, Jay. Because I have all the time in the world.”

“Fine. Stay here. Wallow in your own filth. I just thought you’d like a shower.”

And fuck, he does. He’s pathetic and desperate and Manes knows it so he lets himself be cuffed like a criminal before he’s lead to a little shower for the first time in, Jesus, he doesn’t know how long. He’s been washing himself in the sink for years and he stands under the hot spray - oh god, the water is hot, he’d almost forgotten what it even felt like - and washes himself with the bar provided and weeps at the sensation of being truly clean, not just living on piecemeal hygiene. When he’s done, Manes shoves him into a hard plastic chair, unbothered as ever by his nudity, as it’s only ever a vulnerability for Manes to take advantage of, but instead of the expected brutality, he grabs his long hair in his fist and cuts off chunks until its a manageable length again. He uses a regular drugstore safety razor and shaving cream and scrapes away years of beard. He even pulls out a nail clipper and trims his fingernails down to smooth curves. Michael feels horrified at the soft breathless feeling in his chest. It feels like his body’s betraying him by wanting more but it’s been so long since anything good happened to his body.

When he’s done, Manes gives him a pair of sweats to wear, also clean, and supervises as he puts them on, only unlocking one set of cuffs at a time. It’s a sign of how low he’s fallen that the indignity is worth it to not be wearing the same shreds of clothes he’s been wearing for years, that he had when he covered up those girls murders, that Alex took off him when they made love. He’s loath to let the clothes go though. They’re the last piece of the outside world he has.

“They’re ruined. You can give them to me or I can take them. Your choice, Michael but you know what the hard way looks like.”

He’s still got scabs on his back from the last hard way. He is so fucking tempted to go the hard way. But he’s never felt so fragile in all the time he’s been held hostage in this Area 51 Gitmo nightmare.He’s tired. He’s so fucking tired. He never really imagined being so tired that he’d want everything to just…stop but he does. So he gives the clothes over and just lets himself rest in the relief of not being a completely disgusting creature for a few minutes. Manes is very pleased with himself. Michael doesn’t know why and doesn’t care. “Big things are happening for Project Shepherd, Michael, important things, and you’re going to be a part of it.”He doesn’t disabuse Manes of the idea. It’s better for Michael if he thinks he’s winning. Also, unfortunately, he is winning.

~*~*~

Manes doesn’t roll Michael out for his guest like a Christmas ham. He’s anything but stupid. 

“I need you to cooperate with me, Michael.”

“What are you, kidding me? I’m the most cooperative alien prisoner you’ve ever had in your creepy Buffalo Bill torture cell.”

“You know I think part of the problem is that you’ve never been able to see yourself as I do, as a threat to this country, this planet, this species. 

“Because I’m not.” It’s an old argument, one he doesn’t expect to win, but he knows he’ll never be able to stop making it. “I like this planet, with the exception of you I like this species, and hell, I even like this country when it’s psycho military isn’t holding me fucking hostage. It’s got HBO. I need to catch up on the Entourage.”

Manes sighs. “I need Kyle, I need his connections, I need his medical training, I need what he knows about the people affected by your kind, and I need whatever his father hid before he died. To get that, I need you tell him about you so I need you to be cooperative.”Michael tries so hard not smile. He really does. “That sounds like a You Problem, there, bud.”

“If I don’t, then we have to go back to the old techniques of intelligence gathering and neither of us enjoyed that, did we?” 

Michael’s smile dies but he tries to keep its corpse up and dancing like Weekend at Bernie’s. “I don’t know. Maybe I miss our little chats.”

“I’m sure. But in the event that you don’t, you can choose to be amicable when he’s on the premises or my problem can become a You Problem. Think it over.”Michael does think it over and comes to the conclusion that his shave and haircut make a lot more fucking sense in light of the new information. He doesn’t know where Kyle stands. The guy was a homophobic prick in high school but now he does something with medicine according to Manes so maybe, just maybe, underneath all the shitty teenage jock there was actually a decent human being. He’s not sure if that’s enough to risk his life on but if there’s not, well, he’s got nothing to lose but more pain and he and pain are bros at this point. He can take more pain. Probably. Hopefully. Maybe.

He is not expecting the fucking bag over his head like the actual fucking Abu Ghraib but hey, Manes is never one to go high when he can go low. He doesn’t say much, just listens, hears Manes give his speech about how death follows where his kind goes and how his kind have no compassion or mercy or blah blah blah and fails to suppress a snort of derision because hi, who’s been held hostage long enough for Kyle fucking Valenti to get not just a degree but an MD? Not the alien in the room that’s for goddamn sure. 

“What the hell-“

“This is an alien, Kyle. Don’t be fooled.”

“It looks like a man to me.”

“They appear like us to blend in. It’s what they want us to think, that they’re one of us. Infiltration and destruction from within.”

“What, like the fucking Skrull? Sergeant Manes, this is insane. How long have you had this man-“

“Alien. This man is hostile alien life form that is a threat to life as we know it, Kyle. Try and focus on the objective.”

“How long have you had this... alien captive down here?”

“I’ve had custody of this particular enemy agent for several years. He hasn’t been a threat since then and that’s all you need to know. What I’m hoping, Kyle, is that you can take some samples and do a biological assessment. There hasn’t been a live subject in Project Shepherd before and we need all the data we can gather.”

“Yeah. Right. Um. Okay, uh. Supplies? Do you have supplies?” Kyle sounds like he’s stalling which is really good for Michael. It means he probably has an ethical problem with this and Michael can work with that. 

“Everything you need for a blood draw in that box on the table along with basic field medical kit, everything you need should be in there.” Yeah, Michael’s familiar with that kit. He’s come too patched up by the contents more times than he can count. 

“Okay. Great. I, uh, I’m also going to need to do a cheek swab for DNA.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“You brought me in on this,” Kyle says, voice suddenly hard. “I’m going to do a full checkup. If you don’t like it, then you’re welcome to wait until the next doctor with full privileges at the hospital wanders down into this bunker but I can’t imagine it’ll happen any time soon.”

There’s a long silence after that and Michael almost hears Manes’ jaw clenching. “All right. Be quick. I need to get him back into containment.”

“I will. Now get out.”

“No. I stay and monitor him. That’s non-negotiable.”

“Bag comes off his head. That’s non-negotiable.”

And just like that, Michael’s face to face with another person for the first time in he doesn’t know how long. Kyle’s eyes go wide at the sight of him and he gives him his best smile which is weak at best. He wants to say something snarky and obnoxious, ‘Long time no see,” comes to mind but he bites it back because Kyle will leave and he’ll be left alone with Manes. He knows how this ends for him if he gives in to that impulse. Fuck, he would kill for Isabel’s powers. Fuck, he would kill for _his_ powers. Fuck, he would just like to kill Jesse goddamn Manes if he could.

“Okay. Right. How’s your health?”

Terrible, I get tortured regularly, Michael thinks. What he says out loud is, “Fine.”

“I’m gonna do a blood draw and get a DNA sample. The needle might hurt but the cheek swab shouldn’t. Then I’m going to get your temperature, listen to your heart and lungs, and we should be done. Nothing to it.”

“Do whatever you need to do, Kyle.”

Kyle flinches like he’s been hit. Michael knows he’s going to pay for that but he doesn’t know when or how, just that he will. He’s okay with that. It feels good to talk directly to another human being. It’s worth it. He feels like he’s gotten some of himself back and Kyle keeps glancing up at him from under his eyelashes when takes his blood, stares into his eyes as he gets the cheek swab. In another circumstance all that eye contact could be be very come-fuck-me but instead it’s very please-don’t-leave-me-here-with-him. He tries not to be disappointed when Kyle is done listening to his heartbeat and breath sounds. It’s pathetic to enjoy being touched that much by Kyle goddamn Valenti. 

And then Kyle dates the sample with a permanent marker in the kit and Michael gets hit with a wave of nausea so violent he can’t hold it back. He bends over and vomits right onto the floor, all stomach acid and bile and tears and the taste of his lost life. Kyle’s asking questions, he can’t answer and Manes is staring at him.

“I’m fine,” he says, “I’m fine. I’m fine.”

He’s almost relieved when the bag goes over his head and Manes drag-marches him back to his cell. When the door locks, behind him he’s still chained but he’s free to scream, scream and scream and scream about ten fucking years gone before he even knew they were passing. He screams until he’s got nothing left because out there, in the world, he’s not missing. After that long? He’s already dead. 

~*~*~

Michael has a lot of hopes but zero expectations. What he hopes is that Max and Isabel will storm the bunker and somehow free him. What he hopes is that his powers will somehow come back and he can blow the door off this place. What he hopes is that Jesse Manes will drop dead in front of him and he can pluck the keys off his body like an apple off a tree or however fruit works. 

He is not expecting Kyle Valenti to show up with a flathead screwdriver in one hand, a hammer in the other and Alex fucking Manes who is still beautiful, oh god, how is he still so beautiful, in Air Force fatigues that make him look way too much like his father, in tow. On the list of likely possibilities, this was not at the bottom, because to be honest, his species returning to earth and burning the motherfucker down was at the very bottom, but despite the physical? This doesn’t even rank.

“Oh thank Christ.” Kyle says, after he literally takes the door to the cell off it’s hinges. “You’re okay. C’mon,” he gestures out with the hammer. “Let’s go.”

“Oh my god.” Alex says, gaping over his shoulder. “Oh my fucking god.”

The line Michael is looking for in that moment is _‘Aren’t you a little short for a stormtrooper?’_ But all he can come up with as he climbs to his feet is “You took off the nose ring.” He still hurts all over from Manes using him as a heavy bag after Kyle’s exam but he’s too excited to let it keep him down. He’s been waiting a decade for this. More. He wants to see the sky, the desert, the inside of a car. He wants a fucking beer. He wants to see Max and Isabel. 

“And make up." Alex nods. He sounds sad and just a bit stunned. "They’re not regulation.”

“They were a good look for you.” The memory of that Alex kept him strong for so long he practically manifested into a walking spirit in this room. He misses that Alex. 

“Oh my god, guys, flirt later. Not the time.” Kyle snaps, waving the screwdriver threw the air in a wild arch for emphasis. “Let’s just get out of this Independence Day hellhole before your dad gets back. He’s out of his mind.” Kyle glances down with a frown. “Do you have any shoes?”

Michael shakes his head. He hasn’t had shoes in ten years.

“Fuck.” Kyle sounds like Michael’s lack of shoes are an insult to him personally. He also feels a little bad for him which is a really weird feeling. 

“I can do without them.” His scars have scars but to get out of here he could probably run on broken glass. “It’s fine; let's just go.” He wants out. The longer they stand here talking the more likely it is that Manes will show up with a gun. This could be his only chance for the rest of his life. He doesn’t know the way out but he runs. Thank fuck, Kyle gets the message and takes off, stronger than him from a life lived well, and faster too. The way out is a ladder he caught a glimpse of and sunlight pours down through the open hatch. Michael scales it with a speed he didn’t know he could possess and is ready to bolt when he realizes Alex isn’t with him. 

“Where’s-“

“He lost a leg in Iraq,” Kyle tells him, climbing into his car and starting it. 

Michael gets in the back and sinks down on instinct. He doesn’t know if anyone’s watching and he’s not risking going back. He’s not.

“He’s right behind us. Give him a minute.”

“What the-" Alex hated the military. Why would he even join? He had so many questions. God. He’s missed so much, a third of his life. "When was that?”

“A couple years ago I think? I don’t know. We don’t talk. He just came home from active duty.”

“We’re still in fucking Iraq?”

“And Afghanistan.”

“What the actual fuck.”

“Yeah. And wait til you hear who’s president.”

Michael tips his head back on this seat and shakes his head. “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

“You really don’t.” Kyle agrees. “There he is.” He points out the windshield and sure enough, he’s right.

Alex’s head appears first, then his shoulders. His crutch lands in the dirt and he pulls himself out moments later before following it out and limping to the car with impressive speed. He yanks open the back door, throws his crutch in, catching Michael in the mouth and throws himself in after it, shouting “Go, Kyle, go,” barely getting the door shut before Kyle takes off. In the movie of Michael’s life, it’d be an awesome of shot. 

It’s got the weird comedown of him and Alex leaning against each other in the backseat of a midsize SUV with Kyle Valenti playing hero/chauffeur. He’s honestly not even sure why Alex is there besides the fact that Manes is his father. If anything, that’d be a reason for him not to be there. He hadn’t come before.

“So…” he says, going for casual and probably not pulling it off as he watches the desert roll by out the window and trying to come off too giddy and terrified. “What the fuck just happened?”

“What happened,” Alex says, looking ahead at the back of Kyle’s seat with careful concentration, “Is my dad’s been running a defunct covert operation with family money for years in violation of every human rights treaty in existence without government approval, against direct orders and we had to get you out of there before I call in the Pentagon to end his career.”

“Jay liked to point out that as an extraterrestrial, I’m not human so those treaties don’t apply to my kind, usually before cutting something."

Alex makes a disgusted noise that’s just a little wounded. “Yeah. Old white men have said that about people who don’t pray, screw, or look the way they do too, but ya know, that doesn’t make them right either.” Kyle makes a noise of agreement from the front seat. “I’ve been working on erasing you, Max and Isabel from the existing databanks but we had to get you out of there first so no one would be tempted to restart the program with a live subject. We still haven’t nailed down why he didn’t turn you over to the legitimate branch of Project Shepherd before it was shut down in 2010.” 

“We’ve got some theories though.” Kyle chimes in. “Changing of the guard in the White House, a commander in chief who’s a little less friendly to enhanced interrogation techniques.”

“He just can’t give up control to anyone.” Alex counters. “There were higher ranked officials in charge of the program who he would have had to report his actions to during your detainment." He rolls his eyes and time rolls backwards. He looks seventeen again. "He couldn’t possibly have that.” 

“Also, the Evans twins reported you missing in 2008. It was a whole thing. You’ve been presumed dead since 2016 which- You cannot imagine how ballistic Max went when that came down the pipeline. I had to set four joints in his hand in a goddamn house call after he dislocated it in a fight with a wall. So, imagine my surprise when Jesse Manes unveils his prize evil alien captive and it’s you, alive, in front of me.”

“Yeah, I bet that was a shock.” He looks at his scarred hands and mutilated feet and thinks about the other scars that aren’t so visible in long-sleeves and pants. “Are they okay?”

“They’re great. They had no idea that you’ve been right under their feet for a decade.” Kyle turns to glance back at him for a moment before returning his eyes to the road. “And it has been right?”

Michael doesn’t want to say it out loud. It’s already too real. 

“They’re waiting for us,” Alex says softly. “We couldn’t risk bringing them in case my dad was there.”

Michael feels suddenly like he’s picked up where he left off, looking into Alex’s eyes as his world tilts on its axis and having him understand, somehow, what matters to him without having to ask. He’s already had one miracle today. He’s not sure he’s ready for Alex too. 

“Thank you.”

“They’re your family.” Alex reaches out and takes his hand, the one Manes broke in front of him, the one that was never quite right even when all the others hurts healed clean. “They love you. They’re just glad you’re alive so just hang on while we get out there to them okay?”

“That goes for him too, dude,” Kyle calls back. “He cried when I told him you were alive. Not manful military tears either. Big girly tears.”

“Kyle!”

“What? You did. There was that awkward fucking shrine to him at the reunion, which is weird because, no offense, but dude, Michael, you were never popular and it’s not like being dead changed that. Then you got super wasted and sat there all night staring at it telling people, anyone who would listen, how he played beautiful music and how not knowing what really happened haunted you and that he was the love of your life and how you never connected to anyone like that. There’s video.”

“Oh my god,” Alex groans, dropping his face into his hand. 

“Yeah. I mean, it’s not viral or anything but, I’m pretty sure it's made the Facebook rounds for our class and probably a grade above and below us. When they make the sanitized Netflix documentary of this whole thing, that footage’ll be money.”

“Shut up, Kyle.”

“You shut up. We’re almost there.”

Michael can’t stop smiling. Alex is still goddamn adorable when he’s nervous and he was missed. He was, at any moment in time ever, called the love of Alex’s life. He’s about to see his brother and sister. He’s talking to people who are not Jesse goddamn Manes. Fuck, this is the best day of his life. 

“Hey,” he says, soft, hopefully low enough not to catch Kyle’s notice or at least quiet enough that he’ll take a fucking hint. Alex turns and looks at him through his fingers. Michael reaches up and takes his hand away so he can see his face and laces their fingers together. “You kept me sane in there so, yeah. Me too.”

Alex looks at him like he’s gutted him with a dull spoon and given him the whole world in the same breath. It’s a lot. Michael feels greedy for it and he realizes with delight as the road beneath them gets bumpy and Alex squeezes his hand, he can be. He can want things again.

It crosses his mind to kiss Alex but before he can find the nerve he used to have, they pull into a driveway and he hears a voice shout his name, practically scream it. A second voice joins the first and he practical lands face first into the dirt in his scramble out of the car. They’re still a good fifty yards from the front porch of a little shack that could generously be called a cottage in the middle of fuck-off nowhere desert and Isabel and Max Evans are running towards him at full speed. 

The pebbles and sand on the ground tear at his feet as he hurls himself at them and he nearly falls once on loose dirt, then again inches from them tripping over his own feet in his desperation as they call his name but Max catches him before he can and pulls him tight against his chest in a ferocious hug. Isabel wraps her arms around him from the side and buries her face in his neck. They squeeze him tight, speaking over and on top of each other, words that blur into nonsense about how much they love him and missed him and how they’re never letting him go again, never letting him out of their sight, never letting anything happen to him ever again, I promise Michael, I promise. 

Michael just loves them. His words don’t work. The force of it is too much. 

Kyle politely tries to tell them that they need to get inside and downstairs into his dad’s bunker, and, no. Michael will not be going into any more bunkers until Jesse Manes is at his doorstep with an army, looking for blood. They compromise on a puppy pile in the living room that Kyle does not look at directly and Alex cannot look away from as he lays down the seriousness of the situation.

“He might be. He might be out for all our blood. That’s why we've got to figure this out.”

“Let him come,” Max says, still curled around Michael and Isabel too. The lights in the room flicker as the electricity in the air responds to his rage. “Let them all come. No one gets to touch my family ever again. Least of all your dad. Michael?”

“Yeah. That sounds good to me.” He will die before he goes back. He’s going to live but he’s ready to die if he needs to. 

Alex smiles at that, something thin and terrible and ready. Michael thinks he might be falling in love with him all over again. “Good. I can work with that.”

Max gives his arm a squeeze and starts talking about Liz Ortecho and what she can do to get his powers back so they can end this mess which is something Michael hasn’t even dared to dream of. Isabel runs a hand through his hair and kisses his forehead and says “You’re safe now, Michael. We’ll figure this out.”

Michael doesn’t feel safe because he isn’t. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt or been safe in his entire life. He can’t be sure, he doesn’t remember anything before the highway, and he certainly hasn’t had anything remotely resembling safety in the grey horror of the last decade. But he thinks maybe, sometime soon, he could.

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: 
>   * we're gonna pretend for the sake of this story, that Harlan Manes and his version of Project Shepherd synthesized some version of Liz's serum from the dead subjects in 47 and Jesse's been dosing Michael regularly for a decade. (or we can time travel and pretend I wrote this after episode 1x11 aired and that he had some of that powder)
>   * Title is from Save Me by Remy Zero which was the theme song of Smallville which shared a channel with OG Roswell. 
>   * Multiple studies over an extended period of time has found that torture does not work in gaining reliable information. If you want to get someone to tell you what you want to hear, on the other hand, torture's the way to go. Most, if not all of the reliable counter-terrorist information gathered today is done so through more reasonable methods of negotiation or by "making friends" with the people who have the information, even if they are being held prisoner. 
>   * The US Senate Intelligence Report(Committee Study of the Central Intelligence Agency's Detention and Interrogation Program) was released in 2014 and it's what we have to thank for pretty much all that information. [The report is available to the public and you can read it yourself if you want to](https://www.intelligence.senate.gov/sites/default/files/documents/CRPT-113srpt288.pdf). The Bush years were fun. -_-
>   * For the record and in all fairness so you don't go thinking any president is perfect, the Obama administration actually passed a bill attached to the defense budget called the National Defense Authorization Act [which you can also read if you want to](https://www.govinfo.gov/content/pkg/BILLS-112hr1540enr/pdf/BILLS-112hr1540enr.pdf) that allowed for indefinite detention of US citizens without trial if a party is associated with al Qaeda in 2012. Some states have passed legislation against detention measures for their specific states but New Mexico is not one of them.
> 



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